


Snapshots from Skyhold

by CathyFowl



Series: Thedosian Works In Progress [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, one shots, snipettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:57:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9943082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CathyFowl/pseuds/CathyFowl
Summary: Very short moments of life in Skyhold.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Someone suggested that if I had trouble finishing longer works, I should try writing very short stories. So this happened. Hope you like them.

               **One**

              

The window is made of stained glass. Its missing pieces are scattered over the stone floor. A rainbow color of shards. Some as big as a hand mirror, some as tiny as the small beads sewn onto Madame de Fer's favourite dressing gown.

The metal frame for the glass pieces is still mostly intact. The grey contours curve and waver around crystalline glass and emptiness. The original picture is hard to make out. Too many crucial pieces are missing. Though the intact edges of soft green moss and faded brown bark, suggests a forest scene.

The renovators will come next week, on Josephine's order, and clean away the ruin, only to replace it with new life. The Inquisitor wonders whether they can reconstruct the original story depicted in the colorful glass. Or whether they'll just make a new, boring, ever-present depiction of Andraste.

Perhaps, the Herald's wishes would merit a different reconstruction. Perhaps, Solas could help. With his journeys to the Fade, he could divine what the original picture was. He seems talented enough in the visual arts to sketch a few drawings for reference.

And then, the window could return to its old glory.

 

              

               **Two**

              

There is a small carving near the old ovens. The cook disregards them, of course, but the kitchen maid is mesmerized. 'It looks like my cousin's tattoos,' she insists. Like a few curves and dots could ever recall the beauty of the vallaslin.

 

 

               **Three**

              

The library is abandoned and covered in dust and cobwebs. It takes forever to clean and the flying dust makes her sneeze. The huge tome on the old desk is half rotten, but the salvageable part seems to speak about the healing arts. She hesitates before deciding to take it for herself. If they made her clean all this mess up, she might as well get a good compensation out of it.

The leather is dry and flaky. The parchment is easy to crumble. She has to oil the seams and pick out every page individually, only to re-bind them after the old rot is removed. She had never restored a book before and the final product fills her with Pride.

That night, when her dream is haunted by the Demon, she grins in its face as she takes the bargain.

 

 

               **Four**

              

There’s an old mural in the stables. It looks like a hunting party of Dalish elves, but who would paint elves on the walls of an Orlesian stronghold. However long-abandoned it may be.

The strokes are bold and remind him of the tribal paintings they've seen in caves. The colors are still vibrant, as if they had been painted only days and not centuries ago. He studies them and imagines a long forgotten time, when hunting for food was all an everyday person had to worry about.

 

 

               **Five**

              

The kittens are tiny, mewling balls of fur. Their mother is sleeping, seemingly unaware of the spirit studying her family. The kittens are still very young, but their eyes had already opened and one of them is staring at the spirit with bright blue eyes. When it starts to escape the rag-lined basket, its mother reprimands it with a soft growl, without opening her eyes.

The brave little kitten isn't bothered, however. Instead it wriggles free and doesn't stop its wobbly advance until it made its way onto the spirits lap. There it curls up, yawns, its pink tongue and tiny, sharp teeth on display, and settles for a nap.

 _Warm and kind and nice-smelling. I like,_ the spirit speaks the kitten’s thoughts. _Thank you._

 

 

               **Six**

              

There's an arrow stuck in the wall above the garden.

And no one's bothered to get it down.

The drawf, who seemed to be the expert on the ancient stonework of the castle, says its elven.

She doesn't care.

What she does care about is that it's there and it's annoying.

Every day, when she checks on the herbs, when she's planting the new seeds the Inquisitor returned with, when she waters the plants, her gaze is drawn to the arrow.

It's a single arrow. She doesn't understand why it's bothering her so much, but it does.

It's high up, true, but it would be quite easy to reach _down_ from the second storey and remove it. If anybody would care to trouble themselves.

But no one does and she’s sure as Void not going to risk it.

Not so much because it's hard to reach, but because reaching for it would involve getting up to that walkway. With the mages’ rooms.

An Orlesian First Enchanter, an elven apostate and a Tevinter Magister are three more than the number of mages she can handle being near.

Maybe she could get a string around the arrow. And let the Arbor Blessing climb up onto it.

At least then it would be of some use…

 

 

               **Seven**

              

Three months in and there are still unrepaired walls and holey roofs in the keep, because neither the Commander, nor the mercenary Captain deems it relevant to report the shortcomings of their rooms.

They live in the Blighted mountains, for Maker's sake! How do they not freeze to death at night?! He can imagine the qunari probably has a small harem of giggling tavern wenches to keep his bed warm. But the Commander? He probably sleeps in that furry cloak of his.

To be honest, he's mostly pissed because he already sent away the workers and made sure the leftover stone and lumber were all used up. Now he has to get new materials and call back the workers.

And stonemasons! Because one of the room's corner is missing. No, he doesn't care how the qunari tries to dissuade him from being angry by flirting. He likes his men big, but he prefers them not being stupid over repair work that needs to be done, thank you very much.

 

 

               **Eight**

              

The elven apostate is painting again.

It's like a theatrical performance and perhaps his favorite past time to watch the master work.

The base for the mural (that's not the right word for it, he knows, but he can't remember which book spoke about wall paintings, and he cannot be bothered to look it up again) emerges first, but the colorful middle layer follows quickly.

It's like a race against time. Something about the plaster (again, wrong word, he knows) drying too quickly ruining the painting... And then... there, that finishing touch, a whisper of magic, as if the Fade itself was called into the mural, and suddenly it feels alive.

He wishes he had the courage to talk to the elven apostate. To ask him about his murals, about his magic. He heard that the elf is self-taught. They sure as Void haven't studied such beautiful usages of magic in the Circle.

But there is something terrifying in that too quiet elf. It makes him unable to do more than watch the master at work.

Perhaps, one day he could try to write a note or a letter. And send it downstairs with one of the tranquil. Yes, that could work. Because that elf is scarier than an angry Templar.

 

 


End file.
